Distant Signals: The Love Between Us

Chapter Twenty-Three

***Content warning: Panic Attacks***

"Are you going home now?" asked Arthit, after their meal. He needed to get his hair cut, but he didn't expect Kongpob to stick around and wait for him. It's not like they had plans afterward, and it'd be boring for him to just sit around in the salon. However, a tiny part of him hoped that Kongpob would offer to go anyway, if only because they'd hang out a little longer.

"Why? Are you?'

"I want to get my hair cut first. You can just take off."

"No worries. I can wait for you," said Kongpob. "You can go to the salon now."

Arthit nodded, turning away from Kongpob, a shy smile spreading across his lips. As he pushed the glass doors of the salon open, Arthit found himself growing self-conscious and turned to Kongpob, anxious. "Hey, what haircut should I get? Skinhead? My fringes are annoying as hell. Should I just go skinhead?"

"Welcome!" said a young hairdresser, walking up to them. He had a kind face, and his hair, dyed blond on top, was a pompadour. "How can I help you?"

Arthit raised his hand. "I want to have my hair cut."

"A haircut, is it? This way, please."

He looked at Kongpob. "You can go walk around...no need to wait for me."

Although Kongpob nodded, he didn't didn't leave the salon and took a seat nearby, picking up a magazine to flip through. The hairdresser loudly chatted at Arthit as he cut his hair and every so often, Arthit glanced at Kongpob from the corner of his eye. Wasn't he bored? Kongpob rarely looked up from the magazine, but once or twice he did and caught Arthit looking at him and smiled. Every time that happened, Arthit blushed and turned his attention back to the mirror.

When it was finished, the hairdresser showered him with compliments, but Arthit only cared about one person's opinion, so he stopped listening after he showed him what it looked like from behind. Once the hairdresser left him alone, Arthit nervously got up and meandered over to Kongpob, his hands busy with putting his earring back in his left earlobe.

When Arthit said his name, Kongpob immediately looked up at him. An odd expression came over his face—one that Arthit wasn't sure how to read—and he stood up.

"How is it? Does it look okay?" Arthit touched his jeans pockets, running his hands along the fabric to keep his hands occupied. "I did tell him to do the skinhead, but he said it wouldn't look good on me." He lifted his hand to touch his hair. "I don't feel confident with this style—"

"No, dear!" The hairdresser hustled over to him. "Please don't touch your hair. It suits you so well, trust me." He smiled slyly at them. "You can ask your boyfriend if you don't believe me."

"Oh, no, we are not a couple," said Arthit, too quickly, and with too much force. "He's my junior."

"Well, well, well. I thought he was your boyfriend since you guys were exchanging glances all the time."

Arthit blushed, mortified that he'd been caught stealing glances at Kongpob—not only by his junior, but also this random hairdresser. Strangely, in that moment, being mistaken as Kongpob's boyfriend didn't bother him; instead, it simply made him feel shy and self-conscious. Nevertheless, later on he wondered if he would feel the same in different circumstances. The hairdresser had referred to himself as 'sister' at one point, and based on that and his mannerisms, Arthit assumed he liked men and wouldn't judge them. If asked by someone else, around more people, Arthit wasn't sure that he'd be able to just smile bashfully and move on.